Rendered to Dust
by J. Idanian
Summary: As Viscount, Varric has dealt with many challenges. Now he faces one that will hurt more than any of them. Anders' bloody legacy still haunts the City of Chains and the Prince of Starkhaven intends to see it ended, one way or another.
1. Bitter Is Sorrow

_Mighty of arm and warmest of heart,_

 _Rendered to dust. Bitter is sorrow,_

 _Ate raw and often, poison that weakens and does not kill._

 _-Canticle of Andraste_

The Viscount of Kirkwall beheld his nemesis once more, gliding into the room like a perfumed battering ram made of parchment. He sat grimly and waited for the inevitable. It was not long in arriving. With a loud _thump!_ , Seneschal Bran sat down the high stack of papers on the Viscount's desk, then stepped back a pace to incline his head in greeting, brushing dust from his velvet doublet.

"Sire," he said. There was no hint of a smile on his face, but his voice oozed diplomatic mockery and his comparative height let him look down his long nose at the sitting Viscount with flat, insolent brown eyes. "There are many messages today that require your personal attention."

"How did you deal with it all, Bran?" Varric asked, shaking his head. "You were Viscount—"

" _Provisional_ Viscount," the other man corrected him with the ease of old habit.

"—of Kirkwall for a good while. You must have had some trick for getting through all this."

"Indeed, sire. I call it scheduling and then adhering to that schedule. There is also the trick of delegation, but that would require locating more people you trust implicitly, which would in turn require scheduling of events other than attempting to run Kirkwall from your rooms at the Hanged Man and speaking personally with much of the minor officials in our city."

"One of these days, Bran, someone is going to light your tongue on fire and turn you into an oil lantern if you aren't more careful with people wanting to see me," Varric warned him with a chuckle, reaching for the first sheet of parchment. As was often the case, his dwarven stature made the task more awkward than it should be, but it was either that or have his feet dangling above the ground all the time. _And they wonder why I spend as little time as possible on the giant throne._

"We all give of ourselves for Kirkwall, Your Grace," Bran replied. Then his bland mask cracked slightly in a tiny smile as Varric realized what he was reading and tossed it aside.

"This is another letter from Choir Boy. How'd it get in here? Is he getting clever and switching seals to try and trick me into reading them?"

"It came accompanied by some others, sire," Bran said, indicating the rest of the stack with a gentle wave of one hand. "They are quite similar in tone and content, though. Shall I summarize them and their authors for you?"

Frowning, Varric began flipping through the parchments, squinting down at the various wax heraldic seals and accompanying signatures. When he looked back up, his face was grimly set.

"Bran, you had better go and get Hawke," he said quietly.

"The Champion awaits your pleasure in the antechamber, sire. I took the liberty of anticipating your request and asking her to accompany me. I shall be but a moment." And with that, the seneschal exited the room as offensively subserviently as he had entered it. The moment the door shut, Varric let his head droop with a heavy sigh. _This is probably it. Shit. I thought he was more smug than usual. I just thought I'd have more time than this._

A moment later, Bran returned, bowed his head and said, "The Champion of Kirkwall, Your Grace." Then he was gone again, leaving a dark-haired human woman in his place as the doors shut behind her. Varric grinned up at her.

"Hawke! Have you heard the latest news out of Weisshaupt? Now they're saying that the Champion dueled the First Warden on dragonback. You were both on different dragons, actually. I think the Guardian of Mythal might have shown up there too."

Marian Amell Hawke's answering smile was no longer as bright as it had once been, but it still had the power to warm one dwarven rogue's heart.

"I liked griffins better," she said, unhooking her greatsword from its place on her back and leaning it against the desk as she sat down with a clank of heavy silverite plate. "Dragons have been done by everyone." Then her sky-blue eyes met his and the smile vanished as she leaned forward.

"Bran filled me in on the way up. It's pretty bad, Varric, I'm not going to lie."

"I don't suppose most of these are from people we can ignore?" the dwarf asked, glancing over at the dread parchment pillar.

Hawke offered a game half-smile as she began counting on her fingers.

"The Council of Wycome, the Teryn of Ostwick, the Lord Chancellor of Tantervale, the Margrave of Ansburg, the King of Ferelden, the Emperor of Orlais, the Queen of Antiva, several Magisters of Tevinter, the Dwarven Merchants Guild, and the rest of the Marcher cities. Oh, and there's a petition signed by most of the noble houses of Kirkwall somewhere in there too. The rest of them are just minor nobility, though, so you can at least get rid of around two-thirds of those. You could make hats out of them and set a new fashion for the court."

Varric rubbed at his nose with one hand. The old break in it ached when he was in trouble and now it felt like someone was gently tapping at it with a hammer and chisel. "Did Choir Boy pull off a second coming of Andraste in Starkhaven and we just missed it? How did he do it? Most of the time the rest of Thedas just pretends the Free Marches don't exist and that our grain appears out of a fade rift or something."

Hawke fished a map of southern Thedas out of the clutter on Varric's desk and placed it between them. "It's about trade, Varric, and I think you've known this is coming for a long time. You did rebuild Kirkwall's trade more or less by yourself, after all, but there's a crucial route you left out." Her finger traced a curving line between Kirkwall on the Wounded Coast and Starkhaven, on the northern inland border of the Marches. "Without trade between these two cities, goods have to go around the long way and pass through several other cities, all of which take their cut. Starkhaven is the biggest city in the Marches and they have the most goods to sell. Even I can see that the other realms are only going to pay absurd amounts for imports for so long before they act. And now they have."

"All right. How do we fight this? I'll need to get in touch with the Inquisition and Divine Victoria, to start with. Then I'll… _deal_ with the Merchants Guild, they have a lot of leverage. That should take care of all the small-timers and just leave royalty. If we play our cards right, we can get Orlais and Ferelden to take each other out of this by arguing, that just leaves Antiva. No one cares what Tevinter thinks in the south. Unless—"

"Varric," Hawke said, holding up a hand. "We're not going to fight this any longer."

The dwarf shook his head.

"I know it looks bad, but trust me, we can win this. And if we do, they won't bother us again—"

" _Varric,"_ Hawke said, louder. "I said, we are _not_ going to fight this."

"Don't be silly, Hawke," he said through gritted teeth, trying to make it sound casual and failing miserably, "This is kind of your thing. Champion of Kirkwall and all that, right? I need your help on this one."

"And the Champion of Kirkwall is telling you that she won't let her city suffer because of one man's stubbornness and ability to hold a grudge!" she retorted. Then her expression softened. "Please, Varric, don't make this harder than it has to be."

"I am not telling Choir Boy—"

"Maker's breath, Varric!"

He leapt to his feet, knocking the chair over in the process.

"Dammit, Hawke, I'm not crawling back to the man who tried to _burn my home to the ground_ to find someone he knew _damn well_ was long gone, killing thousands of people, and pretending none of it ever happened! You can't ask me to do that, you saw what he did!"

Hawke winced, lowering her gaze for a moment. When she looked back up, there was pain in her eyes.

"Yes," she said quietly, "I did. And it hurt, worse than Anders. At least Anders had the Gallows and Meredith to justify what he did. He didn't…" Her voice wavered for a moment. "He didn't kill this many people over _nothing._ I can't forgive that. If it were just me, I wouldn't want to speak to him again either. But it isn't. This isn't about me or you, it's about _Kirkwall_. And if you fight this, Kirkwall is going to suffer again, for no better reason than what Sebastian had. And so are the people of Starkhaven. Denying trade won't hurt _him_ , Varric, just his city. I know you don't want that either."

All the fight drained out of Varric and he reached down to right his chair with stiff, awkward movements. Then he slumped back into it, hanging his head.

"You're right, of course," he sighed. "You're always right. It must get old sometimes, being the only sensible person in the room."

Hawke managed a little smile.

"I learned from the best. Though I have yet to make the chest hair work."

Varric chuckled.

"It's a gift, what can I say? All right, call Bran back in. I'm sure he's listening at the keyhole giggling to himself so you won't have to go too far. It's going to take him a while to make this letter pretty enough to send."

* * *

A/N: Please note, the cover image is used by the gracious permission to download from its owner on deviantArt, Jael-Kolken. He knows his shit, as our favorite dwarf would say. This is just an unedited idea I threw together because I liked the thought. I might continue it, I haven't decided yet. I hope it at least gets a laugh or two.


	2. And Does Not Kill

A bitter silence hung over the old battlefield just north of Kirkwall's north gate. A cool morning breeze gusted up from the Waking Sea to the south, rustling the tall grass and keening off spear points. The sun rose blood-red on the eastern horizon, bathing the city's white-brown walls in crimson light. Many booted feet thumped on cobblestones, buckles jangled, and leather straps creaked as the Kirkwall delegation marched north along the old trade road. But no one spoke.

All about them was the debris and ruin of two years ago, great mounds of earth and trenches that gashed the ground, and scattered remnants of all the trinkets that accompanied by army on the march, all shattered, all broken, all destroyed. The weight was overpowering.

Soon enough, they drew up to the Starkhaven camp. The scarlet and black trefoil banner of that city flew at its center, accompanied by those of the other Marcher city-states, though none flew as high. The soldiers on watch stood tall and proud, pikes held arrow straight. One of them, whose gleaming plate armor marked him as an officer, stepped forward as the Kirkwallers came to a halt in perfect order, their final footstep echoing briefly on the cobbles. Varric emerged out from among his people in answer.

The Viscount seemed to have put aside his title for the day, for he lacked the iron circlet of office, wore his old brown leather fighting coat, creased and battered with use, and Bianca the articulate crossbow was slung on his back. The rest of the Kirkwallers were similarly armed and attired. Before the Starkhaven soldier could speak, Varric beat him to it.

"You know damned well who we are," he snapped at the man, "Just go and get your prince and make it quick."

The other man bowed briefly and motioned to one of his fellows, who practically sprinted off. The silence fell again. At length, a larger company of soldiers came marching up through the camp. They fell into line with the entrance guards, parting to reveal their prince, who strode out in front of his followers and halted at about the same distance as Varric. Two mages accompanied him, staves out and held firmly in their hands.

Clad in the same mirror-bright white armor he had worn when he fought alongside Hawke years ago, Sebastian Vael looked every inch the lord he was. The weight of the prince's circlet had begun carving lines into his face, though he retained the chiseled good looks that had given his parents such cause for distress. But a cold, hawk-like scowl marred his handsome features. Neither he nor Varric bowed. The dwarf's gloves creaked as his fingers flexed, loosening up in preparation for battle. Sebastian held his bow in one hand and a full quiver of arrows rested on his back. He opened his mouth to speak. Varric interrupted him.

"You want to trade again? Fine. Send your people to talk to my people. There. Done. Now get off Kirkwall land." He began to turn around as if to leave.

"I do not accept that as satisfactory, Viscount!" the prince answered, "I and my allies will not be treated with such disrespect!" He still had a fine ringing voice that carried well and brought Varric to a halt in mid-turn.

"What. More. Do you want?" the Viscount growled.

"A civil conversation, to begin with," Sebastian said. "Will you accept the hospitality of our camp or shall we join you in Kirkwall? We have a great deal to discuss."

"It would be best if you stayed outside Kirkwall," Aveline put in, walking up to stand beside Varric. The Captain of the Guard's glare was fierce enough that the prince actually began to look away before he caught himself. "I cannot ensure your safety within the city. There are too many who have lost people to your invasion, myself included."

Sebastian nodded once.

"Well enough, Captain. Your honesty is appreciated. Please, come with me. The other ambassadors await our arrival."

* * *

The prince led them through the camp to an enormous pavilion, big enough to hold twice as many people as it currently contained. The escorts of both sides were led off to an adjacent tent where long tables and benches had been set up, along with food and drink. Within the nobles' pavilion was a broad wooden table of some dark wood, varnished until it resembled a black mirror, and many chairs of the same sort. Sebastian seated himself at one end and Varric immediately claimed the chair opposite. The others of both delegations arranged themselves to sit closer to their rulers.

"If I may," the prince began, "I would like ask the blessing of the Maker upon our meeting. Surely we are in need of it." The Starkhaven half of the table bowed their heads, as did Hawke and Bethany. Sebastian's voice grew softer and the icy frown left his face as he spoke, and for the first time, there was peace and weight in his words.

" _And the Maker, clad in the majesty of the sky,_

 _Set foot to earth, and at His touch_

 _All warring ceased. The vicious_

 _Beasts lay down and were quieted;_

 _The meek lambs became bold_

 _And rose up, casting aside their shepherds_

 _To dance at the Maker's feet."_

A brief silence followed, and Sebastian concluded his prayer. "May the Maker guide us in these troubled times and lead us back to the path of peace. So let it be."

The words were echoed by the Starkhaven contingent, and Hawke could have sworn she saw Varric's lips move silently. For a brief moment, there _was_ peace, hovering in the air. Then Varric spoke again and it vanished.

"I'm surprised you weren't struck by lightning just now," he muttered, "Considering you've done just about the opposite of that verse ever since you left Kirkwall."

Sebastian did not rise to the bait this time, but looked to the others present, raising a hand to gesture towards those on his side of the table.

"Permit me to introduce my fellows. This is Baron Harwin of Tantervale, Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick, First Enchanter Bertillon of the Circle of Magi, and Lady Sommer of the College of Enchanters. I believe you are acquainted with Ser Nathaniel Howe of the Grey Wardens."

Nathaniel bowed briefly, his lean face creased in a frown. His plain hunting leathers and dented red steel brigandine stood out among the finely dressed Starkhaven delegates as much as Sebastian's own armor did, particularly with the spread-winged griffin of the Wardens etched upon his chest.

"We met briefly long ago. I won't be offended if you don't remember me. But you may have saved my life and I always repay my debts."

"I remember you," Hawke said, returning his bow with a brief smile. "I try to remember everyone and I recall that you seemed like a good sort, though you could stand to smile more."

"So my sister tells me," Nathaniel agreed. There was a twitch of his lips that might have been an attempt at rectifying the deficiency.

"I get it," Varric grumbled at Sebastian, crossing his arms. "You want to humiliate me in front of as many important people as possible. Well, you know who my friends are, so feel free to get on with it any day now, I'm sure your backers have better things to do as well as me. I've already agreed to reopen trade, I thought that was the only reason you dragged me out here."

"Even were that the case, surely it is not so impossible for me to wish a chance to speak with all of you?" the prince answered with a little sigh, looking over each of the Viscount's friends in turn. "I was hoping that matters between us would not be forever tainted by what has happened. But we shall speak of that later. You have agreed to reopen trade. That is a fine start. There are two things further. First, that you read and answer any future messages from Starkhaven and the Dwarven Merchants Guild with the same promptness and attention you show to others. Are we agreed?"

Varric threw up his hands.

"Fine, ruin one of the only good things about being Viscount. Done. What's the second thing?"

"The second," Sebastian said, leaning forward with a fierce glare, "is that you permit our people to search Kirkwall until either the apostate Anders or evidence leading to him is found."

Varric stood up.

"No deal. Come on, Hawke, we're going."

"Varric, _wait,_ " Hawke said, putting a hand on his shoulder with a heavy sigh. "Let's at least _try_ to change their minds first." The dwarf stopped, shrugged, and sat back down again. When Hawke looked back to the prince, it was not anger or coldness on her face. It was pity and sorrow in equal measure.

"May we ask what particular grievances your allies have with Anders? It's been six years since the destruction of the Kirkwall Chantry. The Mage Rebellion is over and the mages won. What makes you think any evidence is left in the city or that he's anywhere near it? For that matter, why have you all picked now to stand behind Prince Sebastian?"

"Both the College," said Lady Sommer, "And my colleague's pretentions at a new Circle, now that we are both relatively secure, feel we must demonstrate that while Anders' actions may have led to our freedom, whether to live as free mages or to rebuild the prison of the Circle in a slightly prettier manner, we do not condone them. Too many good people died because of what he did. If he claims what he did was to obtain justice for all mages, let him face that same justice. We must be accountable when one of our own commits such an atrocity."

The First Enchanter, who was visibly restraining himself from interrupting her, jumped into the gap. "Indeed," he agreed, "While the Circle may not agree with the second Imperium my fellows are in the process of founding, in this, we are allied. If your Guard Captain had been willing to listen to reason prior to your appointment, Viscomte, we could have dealt with this matter years ago."

"I defended my home from a brutal and unprovoked invasion!" Aveline snapped, standing up and bringing her hands down on the table with a resounding _bang!_ "Don't pretend that the reason for it was anything else than to conquer Kirkwall for Starkhaven so Sebastian could tear it apart until he found Anders or razed it to the ground, whichever came first! And I see no evidence that your own plans are any different!"

A great uproar broke out at once, with everyone talking over each other at increasingly loud volume in an effort to be heard that only made sure no one was. Hawke sighed and motioned to her sister. Bethany raised her staff and when she brought it down, a brief burst of flame sparked from its tip. The shouting went from angry to alarmed, demanding explanations or threatening reprisals, but then they died away.

"Thank you," Hawke said to Bethany, then turned back to the gathering with a stern frown. "Now that I have your attention, my lords, let me say that although I wouldn't have put it so bluntly, Aveline is right. So far, you offer no proof that Anders is anywhere near Kirkwall, let alone inside the city. You have also not offered assurances that your investigation, as you call it, won't be the witch hunt that the prince intended previously. That being said, I'll admit that there may be leads, even if they are six years cold and of little use to you. Why don't we request the aid of the Inquisition? They have no stake in our quarrel. They could investigate Kirkwall under our joint supervision."

"This would be the same Inquisition that both you and the Viscount were part of, however briefly?" Sebastian said, "And that betrayed the trust of Starkhaven by aiding your resistance to my forces? _And_ that is led by an Inquisitor who made pact with the rebel mages? I hardly think they are impartial in this matter, nor are any of you. I have not forgotten how you defended Anders while the ruins of the Chantry were still burning, Hawke. You are still defending him, and this time I will not be denied! For you are wrong, we do have evidence that Anders is within your walls. Warden Nathaniel?"

All eyes turned to the Grey Warden hunter, who nodded gravely.

"As you might imagine, the Wardens have no wish to be associated with Anders and his actions. After Kirkwall, considerable resources were devoted to the effort to find him, but with the Mage Rebellion and what happened during the false Calling, we were…delayed quite a bit. With the recent calm, I was assigned to take up the task once again and though it has taken me quite some time, his trail leads here and it is recent enough for him to be within the city. With the Antivan blockade in place, he cannot have left by ship, and with Prince Sebastian's allies now encircling you by land, it is unlikely he left that way either. For what it's worth, you have my sympathies, Hawke. He was my friend too, of a sort, long ago."

The Champion flinched as if struck, closing her eyes. Her shoulder slumped under the weight of the realization.

"So, call the Inquisition if you wish," Sebastian said coldly, "It is our side they will take this time, whether they like it or not. We will not have them keep this abomination from us again."

Hawke's eyes snapped open, filled with electric blue fury and she looked straight at him. The prince met her gaze steadily.

"My guards will—" Aveline began, only for Sebastian to cut her off with an angry slash of one hand.

"They will do _nothing_ , Guard Captain, unless you wish to be held responsible for his escape!"

"Andraste's holy shit, Choir Boy," Varric snarled, "You're not—!"

"You will not blaspheme in my presence, Varric!" the prince snapped back.

"Elthina would be ashamed of you," Bethany said, and Sebastian visibly reddened.

"You _dare_ invoke her name to—"

"My lord?" Bann Trevelyan put in, tapping him on the shoulder, "Enough. You have what you came here for. If you wish to speak privately with the Kirkwall delegation, that can be arranged. I came here to see trade restored and Anders taken into custody, nothing more."

"No," Hawke said quietly.

The Bann raised an eyebrow.

"Champion, you must realize you are in no position to—"

" _I said NO!_ " Hawke thundered, silencing the Ostwick lord with the sheer force of her voice. "And," she went on, quiet again, "I meant no. You aren't killing Anders to score political points in my city. That is not justice."

"The man is an abomination and the greatest mass murderer alive in Thedas!" Sebastian said, anger twisting his face into something ugly, "How can death not be justice for his crimes?"

"You left out the next verse of your prayer, Sebastian," Hawke said, walking over to the midpoint of the table.

" _All sins are forgiven! All crimes pardoned!_

 _Let no soul harbor guilt!_

 _Let no soul hunger for justice!_

 _By the Maker's will I decree_

 _Harmony in all things._

 _Let Balance be restored_

 _And the world given eternal life."_

The prince struggled for words, looking rather like a landed fish. Varric leaned over to Aveline and murmured, "Ten sovereigns says she turns this into an argument on theology and whips his ass."

Though the Guard Captain didn't smile, he heard it in her answer. "I don't take losing gambles."

"That verse…" Sebastian managed eventually, "That refers to the day when the Maker returns to us, Hawke, when the world is made anew. This is not that day or that world. It is full of sin and wickedness and we can only deal with it as it is."

"I'm reminded of the words of the late Divine Justinia the Fifth," Hawke remarked, walking closer still. All eyes were upon her and the ambassadors held their breath. "I'm sure you've heard this particular remark of hers, it was repeated all over Thedas just before the Mage Rebellion broke out in earnest. Idealism is the Chantry's stock in trade. A religion without ideals is nothing but tyranny. Said during a debate with the late Lord Seeker regarding the fate of mages in the south. And we all know what happened to him and what he planned to do, don't we, my lords?"

An agreeable murmur rose around the table.

"You tell him, sis," Bethany whispered under her breath, a delighted smile on her face.

"Yes, well…admirable as she was, Justinia could not prevent the war, nor even stop it. It is doubtful that the Conclave she planned would have succeeded," Sebastian said. But he took a step back as Hawke continued forward, only a few paces away now.

"And Andraste died without ever having conquered Tevinter. She didn't even found the Chantry as it is today. Failure at a noble goal doesn't make the goal wrong or the effort meaningless. You knew that once."

"And what alternative would you offer?" the prince demanded, taking another step back. "What would you call justice for Anders' crimes? Do not tell me that idealism demands this monster walk free!"

Whatever Hawke might have said was lost to the ages, for a soldier burst into the pavilion, flustered and out of breath.

"Ah, my lords! Urgent news from the sentinels! My, um, that is, apologies for the interruption and I beg leave to speak!"

"Go ahead, I think we'll survive not being called 'm'lord' for once," Varric said to him, waving a hand.

"Yes, thank you, my—um, sir. A single man approached the camp and said he wishes to surrender to us. He…ah…he claims to be the apostate Anders."

In the brief stillness that followed, Varric's voice could be distinctly heard by everyone.

"Well… _shit_."

* * *

 **A/N:** I originally intended this chapter as a funny little short with Varric trying to draft his letter, but unfortunately this website doesn't accept strikethroughs in text. So I just started working on the one after that and it just kept growing on me. I can't seem to write a mildly interesting side story without it turning into something serious. As always, this is unedited stuff, so apologies for the quality or lack thereof. If anyone actually wants to help edit it, by all means, let me know. Oh, and I forgot to mention, I most certainly do not own Dragon Age or anything associated with it, much as I might wish otherwise.


	3. Those Seeking Find

_To the wisest I sang,_

 _To the wing'd cup-bearers of the tall sky-vaulting,_

 _To the wintry halls of strong mountain-kings,_

 _Where in days forgotten, voices there raised_

 _Might the gift'd answer and those seeking find._

 _-Canticle of Andraste_

* * *

Before Varric's curse had even faded from hearing, both Hawke and Sebastian leapt into the silence.

"Bind him at once!" Sebastian ordered the soldier.

"Stay where you are!" Hawke snapped, keeping her eyes fixed on the prince. Caught between the two of them, the messenger swallowed hard and stayed put, glancing back and forth.

"We no longer need Kirkwall's cooperation, Champion!" Sebastian said, recovering the ground he had lost and advancing to within a few paces of her. "Interfere in our justice at your peril!"

Hawke's hands curled into fists and for the first time, the icy calm stare that Hawke's enemies knew and feared in battle was directed at Sebastian. The prince took a slow step back, out of the reach of her greatsword, his movements hesitant.

"Harm Anders at yours, _Prince_ ," she told him quietly, causing the other delegates to also back away slightly, hands straying towards their weapons. "Justice doesn't belong to you alone. Varric?"

The dwarf stood up and began meandering over towards Hawke, hands resting casually in his pockets.

"You know, I just had a thought. A bad habit of mine, I know, but running a city-state will drive you to it. Even if you'd somehow gotten into Kirkwall and found Blondie…what exactly _were_ you planning to do with him? I mean, he only blew up _my_ city's Chantry and everyone in it and wrecked half the city with the debris and the ensuing mage rebellion, so I think we might have a little say in what happens to him. And I liked my thought so much I had another one. Wouldn't the Chantry be the people to hand him over to? His greatest crime was against them." Having reached Hawke's side, Varric looked up at Sebastian with a little grin. "So, indulge my curiosity, Choir Boy. What _are_ you planning to do with him?"

"Hand him over to the Divine, of course," Sebastian said, his eyebrows rising up, "Just as you say. The eyes of the world will be upon his trial, she will understand the necessity of his execution. Even the Inquisition cannot deny justice now that he has been found. Oh, they have taken no action to find him, no doubt out of a misguided sympathy, but now that the question will be put to them, they will have no choice but to condemn him as he deserves." He shook his head, frowning down at Varric. "Did you really think I was about to order him killed here and now? I thought you knew me better than that." He glanced up to Hawke. "I thought you both did."

"So did I," the Champion answered, her voice still brittle and sharp as frost. "And it cost me and all my friends too much. I won't make that mistake again. I wish I could say I'm sorry, but I'm not. Now, to the point, you can't bind Anders. If you throw him into a prison wagon in chains he'll be dead within a day. Too many people want him dead for me to trust you with his safety until this trial."

"You and anyone else who wishes to attend the trial are certainly welcome to accompany us to Skyhold," Sebastian said, taking in the rest of the Kirkwall delegation with a wave of one hand. "As it happens, the Divine is aware of this very concern, hence why the proceedings will not be held in the Grand Cathedral at Val Royeaux. As for your claims about what he did to Kirkwall, it is indeed your right to take part in his judgment. Exactly how is the Divine's decision, not mine. Lastly, he _will_ be bound, in the heaviest chains I can find, and watched every moment of the journey. I will not see him escape me again."

Hawke was silent for a long moment, then finally nodded.

"Then I insist my friends and me be allowed to join his guards," she said, and a good deal of the tension vanished. Quiet sighs of relief came from the other dignitaries and the guards outside the tent. The messenger's knees wobbled as he barely kept himself from collapsing in relief.

Sebastian nodded.

"Provided my allies agree and you give me your oath that you will not free him, I would welcome your aid. In truth, I was concerned over this very matter. What say all of you?" He looked back to his own delegation.

"My templars will not object," Bertillon said, bowing slightly. "The Champion's experience battling blood mages is well known and I doubt she would risk her city by aiding his escape."

"Nor will my mages," Sommer agreed with a sharp nod. "Lady Hawke's aid to our cause has not been forgotten."

Bann Trevelyan nodded with a smile. "Your offer is a relief to me as well, Champion, and I gladly accept."

Baron Harwin had hardly spoken throughout the brief meeting, and continued that trend by simply bowing in agreement when the gathering looked at him.

"Then it is settled," Sebastian said, turning back to Hawke and Varric, "After you give me your oath. You are many things, Hawke, but you have always been one of the faithful. I may not trust your honor as I once did, but a holy vow you will not break, of that I am sure."

Hawke crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow.

"Then I ask your oath in return," she said. "Swear that whatever the outcome of this trial, you'll abide by the decision made. Although considering the last two vows you've broken, you'll forgive me if I don't entirely trust this one."

"My lords, you will all witness our exchange," Sebastian said, pointedly ignoring the insult. He closed his eyes, bowing his head. "I swear by the Maker and Andraste that I will honor the will of the Divine, his foremost servant on Thedas, concerning Anders."

Hawke imitated him.

"And I," she said, "swear by the Maker and Andraste that I will see Anders safely to Skyhold."

"Well enough, Champion," Sebastian said, then turned to Varric. "With your permission, Viscount, we will take ship from Kirkwall this very day and trouble your city no further, after we see to securing Anders and seeing that it is in fact him out there. All of this is moot if it is not truly Anders who is surrendering to us."

The prince and the Champion led the way out of the pavilion, closely followed by the rest of the ambassadors. It was not every day one met an abomination mass murderer.

* * *

The placid calm mask on Hawke's face felt as though it was going to crack with every step she took. The camp entrance might as well have been a thousand miles away for all the notice she paid to it. Thoughts chased each other around inside her head like angry hornets. _Suppose it isn't him? Then we're back to arguing about investigating Kirkwall. Suppose it is? What do I say? What is there to say? What if he's…changed? What if he isn't? Why did I bring Bethany along, I know how dangerous he is! Maybe Sebastian's right and this is some kind of plot. Maybe this, maybe that. Why does nothing I do ever seem to matter?_

"Relax," Varric murmured, falling into step alongside her. "I can hear your teeth grinding from here."

She took a deep breath and blew it out in a frustrated sigh.

"I've never asked, Varric," she said softly. "I've been afraid to. But…do you think that Anders deserves to die? You're the Viscount, I'm just the Champion. Does protecting Kirkwall mean letting them kill him? We both know that's the only way this trial will end. Is it worth fighting for if it costs Kirkwall the goodwill of Thedas? Do I even have the right to make that choice?"

Now it was Varric's turn to sigh and study his feet for a long moment.

"I don't know," he said at last, shaking his head. "I haven't got any more answers for you than I did six years ago. Believe me, I've thought about it, but I never got anywhere. I guess it depends on him. If he wants to die, I won't get in his way. If he wants to live…well, I've done crazier things. If it helps, I think you've got as much right to make these choices as anyone, probably more than most. More than me, definitely. Kirkwall has got your back, Hawke. If you want to fight for him, we can take it. It can't be much worse than Wycome."

A faint smile appeared on Hawke's face.

"Thanks, Varric."

He grinned up at her.

"Anytime. Looks like we're here. Let's see if it's Blondie or not."

They had reached the entrance to the camp, now blocked by a solid triple-deep line of soldiers. Archers on their flanks had arrows nocked and aimed, but not drawn, and their pikes were lowered, forming a hedgehog of steel points directed outwards. The officer who had first moved to greet them when they arrived stepped towards the group and thumped his chest in a brief salute.

"My prince," he said, "The so-called Anders has made no move to attack, but neither has he responded to our questions. He claims he will speak only to you. He had a staff, but relinquished it to us upon receiving our word that we would not harm him without your consent. Here it is." He gestured to one of his men, who came forward carrying a length of well-worn ash, shiny with age and use, shod in red steel and capped with an engraved head of the same metal. Hawke swallowed hard, feeling rather faint. _I gave him that staff. It's really him, then._

Sebastian recognized it as well, his face turned dark and cold.

"You did well, Lieutenant," he said. "This is indeed the weapon of the man we seek. I have sent for the chains. Until they arrive, we will speak with him, though there is little enough to say. Take us to him."

Another salute, and the Starkhavener bellowed for his men to make way. The wall of pikes swung upright again, butt ends thumping on the hard-packed earth, and the soldiers stepped aside in good order to let them by. In so doing, they revealed who they had been guarding against.

It was the eyes that Hawke saw first, because she was looking for them, holding her breath. Brown. Tired. Human, even after Sebastian came into view. She slowly breathed a sigh of relief. _Thank the Maker. Anders, not Justice, or Vengeance. Just Anders. At least there's that, if nothing else._ Then she looked to the rest of him. He wore a mage's light armor of dented and slightly rusted steel that didn't quite fit him, no doubt a castaway from a casualty of the Mage Rebellion. _At least he finally got rid of those feather pauldrons._ Although the years had carved deep lines into his face where there had been none before, it was the same face, the same straw-blonde hair that had inspired Varric's nickname, the same bitter smile on his lips as when they'd parted ways.

"Hello, Hawke," he said. That voice brought back another flood of memory. He sounded peaceful for the first time since…well, _ever_. "I'm sorry you had to see this. I was hoping to get here sooner."

"I am told you wish to speak to me," Sebastian interjected, stepping out in front of Hawke, glaring intensely, his hand twitching as though he wanted to pull out an arrow and put it through Anders' heart. "Speak, then! What are your intentions here? Do you think to escape me again? To kill me? The might of Thedas is arrayed against you, so do not think that my death will stop you being hunted down like the beast you are!"

Anders' smile faded.

"Right," he said scornfully, " _I'm_ the beast. When _I_ kill half a city to free hundreds of slaves, it's wrong. When _you_ do it to hunt down one man, it's perfectly understandable. Nice to see you're finally just as much a hypocrite as the rest of the Chantry.

Sebastian turned red in the face and actually began to reach over his shoulder for an arrow before Hawke caught his wrist in an iron grip.

"You gave me your word!" she snapped.

Wrenching his arm free, Sebastian took a step back, breathing hard.

"…of course, Champion," he said at length, growling the words through clenched teeth, "My apologies."

"And _you!_ " Hawke said, pointing at Anders, "I am _trying_ to keep you alive and you're not making it easy!"

Anders gave a weary shrug.

"He came here to kill me. I thought I might as well remind him of the truth before he got around to it."

"You're not going to die, Anders," Hawke said.

"Not here, at any rate," Sebastian agreed, jabbing a finger at the mage. "Now we drag you to Skyhold in chains to answer for your crimes! But I swear to you, if you give me one good reason, I will put you down like a mad dog and save the executioner the trouble!"

"What Prince Sebastian means to say," Hawke said, moving back to stand side by side with the ruler of Starkhaven, "Is that the Chantry will give you a trial. He's agreed not to attack Kirkwall again if you surrender."

Anders nodded, raising his hands.

"Then I surrender."

Sebastian gestured to the watch officer.

"Lieutenant! Take him away! See that he is chained well and search him for magical items. Then spread word to the men to strike camp and take the army back to Starkhaven. Myself and the other ambassadors must leave as soon as we are able with the prisoner."

The soldiers moved forward warily and Anders smiled again, walking over to meet them halfway. They didn't dare lay hands on him, so it almost looked as though they were his honor guard rather than his jailers. Hawke stood and watched as they took him away.

* * *

Hawke stood outside the prison tent, waiting impatiently and occasionally glaring at the guards, who refused to meet her eyes. The rest of her friends stood nearby, conversing in low tones.

"Varric, this is absurd," Aveline was saying, "If you're going to go gallivanting off _again_ , you'll need someone of authority to stay behind. I can't go."

"Let Donnic and Bran handle things, they've done it before, they can do it again," the dwarf replied, waving off her objection. "Besides, you owe it to Blondie to be there when they put his head on the block. The man just gave his life so the people of Kirkwall wouldn't have to. The least you can do is pay him back for that."

Aveline crossed her arms and scowled down at him like a ginger-haired gargoyle.

"I am. I doubt he'd welcome what I have to say about him at this trial. You have a good excuse to leave me behind so I can't be called on to speak."

"And that makes sense to you?" Bethany asked, frowning at the guard captain. "You think he won't like what you have to say about him, so you leave him to die alone? He never liked what you had to say about him and he always accused you of not seeing justice done when it came to mages! And you're proving him right! You could tell them all the good about him along with the bad, you're one of the only people who would have anything good to say about him. If you aren't there, it isn't justice. What if it was me in that tent, if I'd decided to help him start the rebellion? You'd be there for me."

Aveline sighed, shaking her head.

"That's just it, though. I _don't_ know that I would be there for you, I'm afraid. When you're too close to someone about to be tried, it's very hard to stay impartial. When the crime was against you or someone you care about, it's even harder. I don't know that I can trust myself around him or at this trial. It wouldn't be justice to have me up before half the lords and ladies of southern Thedas and getting into some petty argument with the accused that will only make both of us look foolish, either."

Bethany was ready to keep going, but Varric held up a hand to stop her, a sly grin creeping onto his face.

"Easy there, Sunshine. Aveline's got a point. We'll just have to rely on me to be impartial for her." He looked up at the guard captain, hooking his thumbs into his belt. "Whenever someone asks me my opinion, I'll be sure to tell them what you would have said. You can stay here, and me and Hawke will represent Kirkwall."

"Varric, you—" Aveline began, then cut herself off with visible effort. "You're not going to blackmail me into doing this through threats of petty slander."

The dwarf raised his hands, affecting a wounded look, while Bethany struggled to hide a smile behind her hand.

"Now when did I see anything like that? I promise I'll tell them the truth just as you would have told it. You know I can't resist Sunshine's Hawke family charm."

Aveline ground her teeth, then turned around and began to walk away. She got four steps before turning around and coming back with a frustrated growl.

"This isn't a good idea Varric," she muttered, "And it won't end well for anyone."

"So, just like everything else about this trial, then?" he answered, raising an eyebrow. "Honestly, I probably shouldn't be going either. I'm too close to the whole mess myself. But apparently I'm Viscount now, so I have to. If nothing else, maybe we can keep an eye on each other." Aveline nodded slowly.

"Fair points. All right. I'll go. Maker knows what you and Hawke would get into without me. And I intend to see that Anders gets there alive."

One of the guards at the tent finally stepped towards Hawke.

"He's ready, m'lady. You and your companions may visit now, but we have only a short while before we set off again. He's to be moved to a prison wagon for the journey down to the docks. They're just fetching it round now."

"We'll be quick, I promise," Hawke assured the man, then turned and gestured for her friends to follow. Parting the flaps, she took a deep breath, blew it out, and ducked into the tent. The heavy canvas admitted only a dull, dim light, but it was enough that Anders could be clearly seen. He was kneeling in the center of the tent, wrapped in heavy chains that clinked with his every movement. As if that weren't enough, his hands were restrained behind him in heavy iron cuffs connected by a solid bar. He looked up, squinting at the brief flood of sunlight that Hawke brought with her before the flap fell shut again.

"Please tell me you're not all planning something stupid like trying to break me out," he said. "I'm not leaving."

"Of course we're not breaking you out," Hawke said, walking over to look down at him.

"Yet," Varric added, earning a sharp look from Aveline.

"But," Hawke went on with a sigh, rubbing her temples, "Stupid plans are all you've left us with, _again_. I was about to talk Sebastian into sending for the Inquisition. There would have been delays that we could have done any number of things with. We could have talked about this, found another way. If you were in Kirkwall, why didn't you talk to us _before_ you threw your life away like this?"

"And if I'd told you this is what I wanted?" Anders asked, "Would you have let me go?"

Hawke hesitated and a grim smile flickered across Anders' face.

"That's what I thought. I can't let you or Kirkwall suffer because of me again."

"Really?" Aveline asked, stalking up to him like a lion about to spring. "Where was this nobility of yours three years ago, when Kirkwall was under siege? You had to have known! If all you want is to die, why not then? We lost good people to Sebastian's madness!"

In spite of the terrible weight of chains upon him, Anders grit his teeth, planted one foot under himself, and slowly stood up, grunting with the effort. Now upright, he looked the guard captain in the eye with cold scorn.

"I'm sure everyone would like to just forget what the templars did, pretend everything was the mages' fault and go on as though nothing has changed," he said, "But three years ago was the most desperate time of the Mage Rebellion. _We_ were losing good people too! I couldn't leave them, not after I got them into the war in the first place. Even if I'd wanted to, suppose I had shown up at Kirkwall. No matter what happened, Sebastian would have claimed his invasion was justified, because look, here's the man he was after, funny how that works, Anders must have had someone on the inside feeding him information, we had better make sure we get _them_ too. And the world would have thought our friend the prince justified in whatever else he did after that. I thought about it, it isn't as though I didn't care. The mages needed me more."

"Wait a minute," Bethany said, a frown creasing her face as she held up a hand to stop Aveline's inevitable reply. The guard captain bit her tongue, but held Anders' gaze, crossing her arms in a deliberate movement. "You were working with the Mage Rebellion?" Bethany went on. "Why is the College supporting Sebastian, then? Are they throwing you to the wolves, just like that?"

"They made it clear how things stood when I first offered my help," Anders said. "They couldn't openly acknowledge whatever aid I could give and if we won, they couldn't stand in the way of justice. I knew what I was getting into." He shook his head, giving her a tiny, gentle smile. "Don't blame them too much. I knew what I was getting into."

"It isn't the right thing to do," Bethany murmured, shaking her head. "Six years of helping the free mages should mean something more than this. I know that sometimes there are hard choices, but…" She trailed off into a frustrated sigh. "It isn't right."

"It rarely is," Anders answered, returning his attention to Hawke and Aveline. "If you aren't here to free me, what are you planning to do? There isn't anything left for us to talk about."

"On that, we agree," Aveline said quietly.

"We're coming with you to the trial," Hawke said. "We're going to fight for your life."

Pure shock appeared on Anders' face, his eyes going wide as coins. He swayed a little as he reflexively flinched back, forgetting about the weight of his chains. The iron links forced him back to his knees to avoid falling over.

"What—?" he spluttered. "How—?" He shook his head violently, looking up at Hawke. "After everything I've done, all the people who want me dead? Hawke, you can't do this, I came here specifically so that you could avoid ruining your life for me again, don't do this to me!"

Hawke lowered herself to one knee so she could reach out and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Listen to me," she said, showing the cool confidence that had inspired so often in the midst of battle, "You have more allies than you know. I'll prove it. I won't be alone and neither will you. And as much as you claim to want this, I think you know you don't deserve death. What these people want isn't justice, but vengeance. They want someone to blame and you're willing to give them your life so they won't turn their anger on the free mages. _That_ shows me you're worth fighting for, still."

Anders looked to the others.

"Varric, you can't possibly agree with this, not after what I did to Kirkwall! Aveline, you're going along with this?"

"I intend to make sure this trial is done properly, nothing more," the guardswoman said. "Rest assured, if they condemn you, I won't be going against that."

Varric sighed, giving a shrug.

"If you want to live, Blondie, you've got as much right as anyone. You haven't blown up any more Chantries in the last six years, so unless you break that record, you can live as you like, as long as it's far away from Kirkwall. Besides, Hawke disagrees."

"Are you still following Hawke around like a puppy?" Anders snapped at him. "She makes mistakes, you know! It isn't as though she's never had bad ideas!" He ignored Hawke's hand tightening on his shoulder, her gauntlet's hard edges digging into him.

"Technically, she follows me around now," Varric said, a little grin flickering over his face. "Goes with the crown and everything."

"No!" Anders snapped, his chains clinking as he moved around to face towards the dwarf. He looked as though he wanted to snap them with his bare hands. "No more jokes, Varric! You can't just keep relying on Hawke to make all your decisions for you!"

"Excuse me!" Hawke said, scowling as she tapped Anders on the shoulder, not terribly gently, "If you have something to say about me and Varric, I'm right here. And it isn't like that."

"Oh, it's not?" he said, looking back to Hawke. "Then tell me, when was the last time Varric did _anything_ important without consulting you. When was the last time he went against whatever you decided? If all he's going to do is force you to run Kirkwall for him, the least he could do is make you Viscountess and cut out the middleman!"

"Hey, Blondie," Varric said, snapping his fingers to get Anders' attention. "If I haven't thought of what to do with you since I last saw you, I doubt I'm going to come up with an idea on the way to Skyhold. Besides, don't tell me you've never needed advice on any of your decisions. I'm backing up Hawke because her ideas usually turn out right in the end and that's more than you can say for a lot of people."

"Bethany," Anders said, glancing over to her with a pleading look, "Don't let them do this."

"There are very few people who are beyond saving," she said. "If Archon Hessarian was given the chance to atone for what he did, we have to do the same for others who truly regret their crimes. You know what you did was wrong, they should give you a chance to make up for it." A shadow passed over her face. "I spent six years in the Gallows. I know why you did it. It was wrong, but I know why."

Anders laughed, a terrible, half-choked sound. "Well, somehow I don't see myself helping found a new religion, so I don't think I can match him. What kind of punishment can balance all those lives besides death?"

One of the guards poked his head in.

"Time's up, m'lady, sorry. We need to be off to make it to the docks before evening." Then he withdrew.

"I suppose," Hawke said as she stood, turning to leave, "We'll find out together."

* * *

A/N: Good news, I have an editor now! Even better, unlike Varric's editor, I'm pretty sure they haven't killed anyone over a semicolon. Doubtless the current chapters of this work will undergo some revision, but in the meantime, I see no reason why I shouldn't keep posting them, for those interested in my rough drafts and thoughts.


	4. Few Against the Wind

_Maker, though I am but one, I have called in your name.  
And those who come to serve will know your glory.  
I remembered for them.  
They will see what can be gained,  
And though we are few against the wind, we are yours._

 _-Canticle of Trials_

* * *

It wasn't so simple as Sebastian made it seem, of course. It took two hours to get the ambassadors and their entourages mounted, supplied, packed, and arranged in order of precedence as a little caravan for the twenty-minute walk to Kirkwall, which took three times that due to the wagons and the poor condition of the road. Varric hadn't bothered maintaining it after the war. Once they reached the city, they had to halt at the gates while Aveline argued with Sebastian that her reasons for denying him entry to Kirkwall were still valid and told him to go around the long way. It was eventually decided that the prince would enter the city at his own risk and put it in writing that if he met a tragic accident, no blame should fall upon Kirkwall. Then they faced the winding, narrow labyrinth of streets that was Lowtown. The maze had been known to frustrate even those who had lived there for years and it was little surprise that their procession continued to lose its way in the crowded confines, necessitating time-consuming backtracking and shortcuts of dubious effectiveness.

At last, they broke out of Lowtown's insidious web onto the docks, but matters were far from done. Now everything necessary for the journey had to be loaded onto a few ships, but which few? Having not expected to actually find Anders immediately, the delegates hadn't thought that far ahead and a frenzied, desperate negotiation ensued. Tempers flared and pointed remarks flew back and forth like arrows. Two or three people were seriously wounded in the pride. Complicating matters was the Antivan blockade, mostly consisting of hired privateers from the Felicisima Armada, who promptly raised their asking prices considerably upon learning what they were being asked to do. They demanded time to consult among themselves to see who would even be willing to spend more time away from the northern waters they called home to carry dangerous cargo. And so Sebastian's resolve to leave that day was defeated and the prince retired in disgust to the Harriman estate for the night. Anders was locked up in the Gallows, which had stood empty for years save for those who had come to gawk at Meredith. Now, with the statue finally having been gotten rid of, even they had gone.

And so it was that Hawke found herself stumbling through the twilight gloom of Hightown, exhausted and sore from bearing the weight of her armor all day – even if the plate was enchanted, more than half a day was too much – heading for her estate. She had been surprised to find it still standing upon her return, untouched by looters. Aveline's doing, no doubt, or some lingering remnant of the Champion's legend, or both. As the heavy oaken door creaked open, Hawke paused a moment, narrowing her eyes. The great warriors, the ones who survived, felt things sometimes, warnings of danger that they couldn't possibly have known about through their mortal senses. For her, it was like a tingle at the back of the neck, a kind of pressure as though someone were holding a knife just above the skin, touching the fine hairs there. She was being watched by someone capable of killing intent. One hand slowly reached up over her shoulder to curl around the hilt of her greatsword, the _blade of mercy_ Fenris had shoved back at her so long ago. Its magical runes pulsed and flared as her will slid into the length of sharpened silverite. Then, a voice from the shadows to her right, the low hiss of a woman not wanting to be heard.

"Psst! Hawke! Don't panic! I'm coming out, I'm not armed!"

Hawke drew her sword, stepping inside the estate and whirling around to face the door. _I know that voice. Who is it?_ The flood of lamplight from behind her cast a long yellow lance out into the dark night. _This is a good position, only one way to get to me, and I have reach and room to swing my sword. A yell will wake Bethany and Oriana if fighting doesn't and I'll have magical backup in less than a minute. They could have a dozen knives waiting in the shadows out there, or mages, or worse._

"Show yourself," she demanded, " _Slowly._ "

She heard faint footsteps, slow and hesitant, and tightened her grip on her word, leather bindings creaking under the force. All her weariness was forgotten now and she was deep in the tranquil fury of a fight about to happen, her face a stone-carved mask of calm and focus. The intruder stepped into the light, one hand raised and squinting against the glare. But Hawke knew her.

" _Shenadan_ , Hawke," she said, a wry smile on her face.

" _Ben-Hassrath_ ," Hawke answered, keeping her sword raised. "Or are you still _Tallis?_ "

The slender, fire-haired elf nodded back, slowly lowering her hand as her eyes adjusted. She still wore boiled leather, cuirass, bracers, and greaves, and Hawke saw several empty knife sheaths on her bandolier and belt. That crimson hair was still pulled back into a short ponytail. Most importantly, her grey eyes were still deep and dangerous.

"For now, yes," she said. "There aren't many old assassins. I may not have many years left as Tallis. Can I come in?"

"No," Hawke answered, "And you can save your breath, you lied to me about everything before, why would I ever trust you again? Leave, now."

Tallis let out a frustrated sigh, leaning casually against the door frame.

"Look, this wasn't my idea. I told them to send someone else. But they told me you wouldn't believe any other Qunari any more than me and they were right, weren't they?"

"They were," Hawke said, nodding, "You people will do or say anything if it means crushing the life out of Thedas. You're living proof of that. Leave. I won't warn you again."

The elf straightened up, her face turning flat and serious.

"Kill me if you want, then, but I'll deliver my message. If you're just going to ignore it, will it really hurt you to listen?"

A tense silence fell as Hawke considered Tallis' words. At length, she sighed.

"Talk fast," she said, raising her greatsword to rest the flat of the blade across her right shoulder. Some people had been taken off guard by how fast she could bring the heavy sword crashing down from that position, but she knew Tallis wasn't going to be one of them.

"I should also tell you that I argued against warning you," the assassin said, "But you're still _basalit-an_. That entitles you to a certain respect, even if some of us think you don't deserve it. There are Tevinter agents who are interested in Anders. You've moved faster than they expected, as has he, so as long as you get out of Kirkwall soon they won't have time to plan anything. But they're up to something and whatever the Imperium wants, the Qunari will see stopped. I'd tell you more but that's all we know at this point. I've been ordered to shadow you and offer protection if you want it, and I know you don't."

"Do you think I don't deserve to be _basalit-an_?" Hawke asked, raising an eyebrow.

"This may surprise you, but I still think you're worthy of respect. You made your position clear when you went with me and you acted as best you could based on what you knew. Don't misunderstand, I don't like you, at all, but only a fool wouldn't respect you. _Asit tal-eb_. It is to be. Who you _are_ hasn't changed."

Hawke sighed, shaking her head.

"Neither has who you are. So tell me, have you found certainty? When the Qun demanded that every major noble house in Thedas be decapitated to pave the way for an invasion, were you _certain_ that was right? What about when it demanded using _saarebas_ and lyrium, _red_ lyrium as well as blue, or ancient elvhen artifacts? Was it the Qun who demanded that, or _Viddasala?_ Do you even know enough of your own religion to decide whether or not your orders are truly a demand of the Qun?"

Tallis' blank expression was unreadable as she replied.

" _Ataash varin kata_ ," she whispered, then stepped back in the shadows and vanished.

Hawke returned her sword to its place on her back, then stepped forward to shut the door a little harder than necessary. Thanks to Merrill's patient tutelage, she spoke some elven, but of Qunlat she knew hardly anything. _What did she say? Does it even matter? She lies as easily as breathing._ Then, as she entered the main hall of the estate, there came another voice out of the past, which was kind enough to answer her unspoken question.

" _In the end lies glory_. So that was Tallis. I had wondered about your questions myself, given what you told me of her."

Hawke looked over to see Bethany and Merrill, awake and dressed, standing over near the table where Sandal used to work on his enchantments. And next to them…Hawke's eyes widened.

" _Fenris?_ " She let out a groan, falling back to rest against the wall with a loud clank, her head falling forward. "All right, is there anyone _else_ hiding in the woodwork? Maybe under the bed, clinging to the chandelier?" She made a circling 'get on with it' gesture with one hand. "Come one, come all, don't be shy. It's been that sort of day. I can take it."

"So I have been told," Fenris remarked. She could hear the little smile in his quiet, cultured thunder of a voice. "Bethany has been quite informative."

"I'm sorry, _ma vhenan_ ," Merrill said, fiddling with her hands anxiously. "I came home and I found him standing outside looking like a lost paintbrush and he was really quite nice. Well, nicer than usual, I mean. And he really does need to talk to you. It's important."

Hawke raised her head.

"It's fine, Merrill," she said, "It's just been a very long day." She took the opportunity to examine the one-time Tevinter slave warrior.

Like Anders, he looked much the same, albeit a little better than the mage. A few new scars, the old untidy mop of white hair that partially obscured the elven points on his ears, and a greatsword much like her own. His armor had obviously been mended many times, sections replaced where a hard blow had torn it, but it was still the same design. The genuine smile on his face, though, that was new. Hawke could count the number of times Fenris had been in a good mood around her outside of a game of Wicked Grace on one hand, and it was rarely because of her presence.

"So," Hawke said, waving the group over to the study, "What's the occasion? Last I heard you were waging war against Tevinter slavers outside the Imperium. How did that work out for you?"

Fenris' smile turned predatory.

"Quite well," he replied.

Hawke propped her sword up against the wall and took a seat, as did Bethany and Merrill. Fenris remained standing.

"You'd be proud," her sister said, "He spared the mages the slavers wanted and let them go free."

"There was nowhere to send them with the Circles deserted and the templars killing everyone who showed so much as a spark of power," Fenris added hastily. "And after what they had been through, few wished to go to Tevinter." He shrugged. "I should have killed those who still thought the Imperium would be their salvation. They will only become slaves again or blood mages soon enough. But I didn't. I don't know why."

"Whatever your reasons, I _am_ proud to call you my friend," Hawke said, a little smile creasing her face.

"Tell her about your friends," Merrill urged the other elf, "That was my favorite part." She leaned in close to Hawke, eyes sparkling, to whisper, " _I think some of them tried to court him_."

"Some of the slaves I freed wanted to help me free others," Fenris muttered, refusing to meet Hawke's eyes. "A few were trained warriors or had other useful talents. I'm not blind, one man alone, even me, is vulnerable, particularly if he goes looking to challenge Tevinter mages and legionnaires who are well prepared. They wanted to help and I did not turn them away. That hardly makes us friends."

"All right, we believe you," Hawke said, holding up a hand. Bethany had been about to speak, and a sly grin was on her lips, but there would be plenty of time to embarrass Fenris later. "What brings you back to Kirkwall? I didn't think you'd ever want to return here."

At last, Fenris looked up, his usual semi-frown settling into place.

"I met the so-called Tevinter agent Tallis is after. Either the Qunari know less than they should or she is lying to you, but the people she's after are Tevinter only in origin and name. They are extremist reformers bent on shaking the Imperium out of its slumber by force. You have met them before, I'm told. They call themselves Venatori."

"We've met," Hawke said, scowling at the memory. _Empty eyes…demon whispers…a friend's blood on the edge of a knife._ "They served Corypheus and committed many atrocities in his name. I'm sorry to hear I and the Inquisition missed a few of them."

"Indeed. As it turns out, their near-annihilation broke the remaining Venatori into squabbling factions, not unlike the Magisterium in miniature. The agent Tallis seeks leads one of them. She is here in Kirkwall and wishes to speak with you."

"Wait a minute, you met her and didn't kill her?" Hawke asked.

"It isn't blood magic," Merrill said, squinting at Fenris as though looking at something far away, "But I don't know of anything else that can change someone's mind like this. Fenris, what's wrong?"

"If it's blackmail, we'll help," Bethany said firmly, "We won't let you be used like this."

"Enough!" Fenris snapped, holding up his hands to ward off the attention. "I can explain if you'll all just be silent for one moment!"

The three women obligingly waited. He sighed.

"I fully intended to kill her by the end of our first conversation. What she had to say stayed my hand until I had heard all of it. We made an agreement; if by the time she reached the end of her story I still wished her dead, she would let me kill her. It took several days and by the end of it…" He sighed again, shaking his head. "She was a fool and is a menace but she may serve to free the slaves of the Imperium. She invited me to aid her to ensure that it is done without blood magic, demons, and all the various other atrocities that usually accompany Tevinter operations. I intend to kill her _after_ she has kept her promises or if she breaks them. That I am here, now, is proof enough that she has kept them thus far, as is the offer she wishes to make."

"And that is?" Hawke asked, raising an eybrow.

"She can help you save Anders, should you wish it," he said, "As to the details, she can discuss them with you better than I. She also wants to meet the Champion, of course. They tell your story in the Imperium as well as the south."

Hawke was quiet for a long moment, turning the idea around in her mind.

"It couldn't do any harm to talk to her, could it?" Bethany said softly. "If there's even a small chance, we owe it to him to try."

"And you, Merrill?" Hawke murmured, glancing over at the other woman.

The elf nodded firmly.

"There's no danger in listening, as long as you're careful."

"Well, we are dealing with quite the demon here," the Champion mused. "All right. Just two more questions, Fenris, and then we can catch up in the morning. First, where and when should we meet? Second, what's her name?"

"Of course," he said, nodding, "My apologies for keeping you. And…thank you for hearing me out. The meeting is set for tomorrow morning at a private room in the Hanged Man. And her name is Calpernia."

* * *

A/N: Originally, I intended to make this chapter considerably longer and cover most of the events of the following day, but I decided I'd rather put up smaller chapters more frequently so as not to deprive my readers for too long. I'm quite busy most of the time and I'm sure you'd rather not wait months on end for a chapter that's eight thousand words instead of three. Perhaps I'll go back later and combine chapters that would make more sense that way. And as usual, this is just me unedited. I might one day stop apologizing for that, but probably not anytime soon.


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